His Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Healer
Elizbeth married the wealthy heir Carlton Wilkinson to save her grandfather's life's work.
But on their wedding night, instead of a loving husband, she faced a cold tyrant. He forced her to sign a brutal prenup, stripped her of all family rights, and banished her to a dingy guest room.
He was convinced she was just a pathetic, gold-digging liar.
When a catastrophic pain attack drove Carlton to smash his own head against the wall, Elizbeth rushed in to save him using her specialized acupuncture. She risked her life to calm his spasming nerves.
But the moment he woke up, he nearly choked her to death. He threw her against the wall, bleeding and bruised, accusing her of using cheap parlor tricks to poison him.
The next morning, his greedy relatives openly mocked her cheap clothes, waiting like vultures for Carlton to drop dead so they could steal his fortune.
Elizbeth was humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered a classified secret.
Carlton was a former Delta Force operator slowly going mad from an undetectable weaponized biotoxin. The poison made him paranoid and violent. He would rather die in agony than accept help from a woman he despised.
Begged by his desperate grandfather, Elizbeth knew she had to cure him in the shadows.
At 1:00 AM, she slipped a heavy, odorless sedative into his water and sneaked into his pitch-black bedroom to begin the detox.
But as her silver needle hovered over his skin, a massive hand shot out and pinned her violently to the mattress.
"How much did they pay you to poison me?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes wide awake and blazing with murderous fury.
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Chapter 3
The morning sun pierced through the gap in the heavy curtains, striking Elizbeth directly in the eyes.
She groaned and shifted on the narrow velvet sofa. Her neck was stiff, and a dull ache radiated down her spine.
She sat up, rubbing the back of her neck. The sound of running water echoed from the master bathroom.
A moment later, the bathroom door swung open. Carlton walked out. He had a white towel wrapped low around his waist. Droplets of water clung to his broad chest and slid down the deep ridges of his abs.
Elizbeth's breath hitched. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She quickly averted her eyes, staring hard at the floor, her heart suddenly beating entirely too fast.
A sharp knock sounded at the bedroom door.
"Sir," Judi's voice called out clearly from the hallway. "The elder Mr. Wilkinson is coming up the stairs."
Carlton's head snapped toward the door. Panic flashed in his dark eyes. He moved instantly.
He crossed the room in three massive strides and grabbed Elizbeth by the upper arm.
"Hey!" Elizbeth yelped as he hauled her off the sofa.
He practically threw her onto the center of the king-sized bed. She bounced against the mattress, completely disoriented.
Carlton jumped onto the bed next to her. He grabbed the thick duvet and yanked it up, covering them both up to their shoulders. He pulled her body flush against his bare, damp chest.
The double doors of the bedroom swung open.
Jacob Wilkinson stepped into the room. He leaned heavily on a silver-headed cane, his sharp, calculating eyes scanning the space.
The cold, ruthless expression on Carlton's face vanished instantly. It was replaced by a soft, affectionate smile.
Carlton wrapped his heavy arm around Elizbeth's waist, pulling her even closer. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
Elizbeth's entire body went rigid. Her muscles locked up.
Carlton's fingers dug into her waist under the covers, pinching her hard. It was a silent, painful warning.
Elizbeth gasped slightly from the pinch. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a shy smile. She looked at the old man.
"Good morning, Grandfather," she said, her voice tight.
Jacob's sharp eyes lingered on their tangled bodies. The tight lines around his mouth relaxed into a satisfied nod.
He walked slowly toward the side of the bed. "How did you both sleep?" he asked, his voice rough like sandpaper.
Carlton ducked his head. He pressed his warm lips against Elizbeth's forehead, letting them linger there.
"Everything was perfect, Grandfather," Carlton murmured, his voice thick with fake adoration.
The feel of his lips on her skin sent a violent shiver down Elizbeth's spine. A bitter, sour feeling rose in the back of her throat.
Jacob reached into his tweed jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, square velvet box and set it gently on the nightstand.
"Take good care of your wife, Carlton," Jacob instructed. He tapped his cane on the floor once, turned around, and walked out of the room.
The heavy doors closed. The loud click of the lock echoed in the quiet room.
The warmth vanished from Carlton's face in a fraction of a second. His eyes turned back to ice.
He let go of Elizbeth as if she were covered in acid. He threw the duvet off his body and rolled out of the bed, putting as much distance between them as possible.
The sudden loss of his body heat was a stark reminder of the act. The warmth had been a lie, and the cold that replaced it felt more honest, yet somehow more brutal. A bitter wave of humiliation washed over her, and she had to fight the sting in her eyes.
Carlton grabbed a dry towel and aggressively rubbed his wet hair. He glared at her.
"Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice dripping with disdain. "And don't get used to the acting. Remember exactly why you're here."
Elizbeth clamped her teeth together. She pulled the duvet up to her chest, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the fabric. She refused to let a single tear fall while he was looking.
Carlton walked into the closet. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit. He didn't even glance at the velvet box on the nightstand.
He grabbed his watch from the dresser, strapped it to his wrist, and walked out of the bedroom without looking back.
After Carlton left, Elizbeth sat alone in the massive, empty bed. She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the velvet box, her chest heavy with a suffocating weight. She knew she couldn't stay in this hostile room without the one thing that brought her comfort. Slipping out of the master bedroom, she hurried down the hall to the guest room.
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9.2
Averie spent hours preparing a perfect third-anniversary dinner for her billionaire husband, Jarett Sharp.
Instead of celebrating, she received an anonymous photo of him intimately holding another woman.
When Jarett finally arrived, he didn't even look guilty.
"Candida. It's okay. Don't be scared. I'm on my way."
He simply took a call from his mistress, shoved Averie aside, and walked right back out the door.
That same night, Averie's father suffered a massive heart attack.
The hospital demanded a half-million-dollar deposit before they would operate.
But when Averie frantically tried to use the emergency medical trust card Jarett had given her, it was declined.
Jarett had deliberately frozen her access to the funds just hours earlier.
While she begged his assistant on the phone, Jarett refused to be disturbed, busy wrapping his expensive coat around his mistress in the hospital garden.
Averie collapsed in the hallway, realizing the man she loved was deliberately letting her father die.
In the end, a childhood friend stepped in to pay the bill and save her father's life, while her billionaire husband later pinned her to their bed, throwing a check at her and reminding her he had bought her for three million dollars.
Averie didn't shed a single tear.
She slowly ripped his check into pieces, left her massive diamond ring on the dresser, and walked out into the cold New York night with nothing but her old suitcase.
She pulled out her phone and dialed her old ballet professor.
She wasn't just going to leave Jarett Sharp. She was going to destroy him.
9.7
"Sign it. You're no woman if you can't give me an heir."
Niamh gave Marcus two years of her life, her unwavering loyalty, and her silent love. In return, the billionaire CEO served her divorce papers and a one-way ticket to the gutter.
Cast out into a rainy night with nothing but the clothes on her back and twelve dollars, Niamh’s story should have ended there.
Instead, she stumbled on a stranger in the rain.
In an attempt to save him, he kisses her senseless. He is the last Lycan King standing, and a man of terrifying power, yet he is haunted by a seven-century curse.
When the king has a taste of Niamh in the pouring rain, he knew he had to keep her for himself, even though she was human and it was against the laws of their kind not to mingle with humans.
The King needs her essence and Niamh realizes she could use her body to get what she wanted; revenge on Marcus and his mother for humiliating her and making her waste her time.
Now, the woman Marcus discarded is rising as a global conglomerate queen and a Divine Enchantress as assigned by the Moon Goddess.
While her ex-husband’s empire crumbles into bankruptcy and his body rots with a shameful curse, Niamh is learning that being "claimed" by the King is much more than the contract she'd initially made with him.
He wanted to use her as his cure. She wanted to use him for her revenge.
But in the Lumina Realm, the Goddess has other plans.
8.0
I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump.
"This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth.
"Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project.
I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears.
Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.
7.1
For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big.
On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe."
Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero."
Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends.
"She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy."
Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder.
I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number.
"Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married."
9.0
Eileen woke up in a trashed hotel room, her head pounding with the pathetic memories of a despised Hollywood actress.
Outside the window, paparazzi were already screaming about her manufactured cheating scandal, but the real nightmare was waiting at her door.
Her paralyzed, billionaire husband, Carlisle Vinson, looked at her with pure disgust while his butler shoved a divorce settlement at her chest.
"Mr. Vinson is offering a severance package of fifty million dollars, provided you sign immediately and vacate the premises."
The original owner had left her an absolute mess.
Her trusted assistant had sold her room number to the press to frame her, and a playboy had scammed her out of her entire two million dollar life savings.
If she signed those papers and lost the Vinson family's protection, the breach of contract fees and her enemies in the industry would swallow her alive in days.
Eileen felt a cold fury override the original owner's lingering panic.
Why should she take the fall and be thrown out on the streets while the parasites who set her up lived out their wealthy fantasies?
She had died once, and she wasn't about to waste her second chance playing the victim.
Eileen slammed the heavy divorce folder shut right against the butler's chest.
"I'm not signing," she said with a terrifying, absolute calm.
She stepped behind her husband's wheelchair, ready to shield him from the cameras, secretly cure his dead legs, and make everyone who betrayed her bleed.
8.6
For two years, I was trapped behind my own eyes, a prisoner in my own skull.
A crazed fan had hijacked my body after a brutal car crash, wearing my skin like a cheap suit.
When my soul finally locked back into my flesh in a cramped hospital room, I realized she had destroyed everything I built.
This parasitic stalker had drained my massive fortune to zero, buying luxury gifts for a mediocre actor and turning me into the internet's most hated woman.
My phone was flooded with death threats, and the hashtag demanding I go to hell was trending at number one.
Even the hospital nurses despised me. One marched into my room, raising her hand to violently slap my pale cheek.
"You psychotic bitch, you make me sick!"
Worse, my sprawling Beverly Hills estate had been foreclosed and sold to a mysterious billionaire named Kasey Dominguez.
I had absolutely nothing left. No money. No reputation. No home.
The sheer violation of watching a psychotic stranger ruin my life while I was locked in the passenger seat of my own mind made my blood boil.
I refused to let her destroy my legacy.
As the nurse's hand descended, my atrophied muscles snapped into action.
I twisted her wrist until the joint popped, grabbed the keys to my freedom, and slipped out into the cold Los Angeles night.
I was going to take my life back, starting with the billionaire who thought he owned my house.